


We'll be alright

by Akii



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Sherlock, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Friendship/Love, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9349736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akii/pseuds/Akii
Summary: One, two, three, count again, one, two, three. Count again.Breathe.No, that won't do. He needs another fix. Or maybe he should just tell him. Why the hell is it so hard?Because he's going to leave.But he has already left, Sherlock, remember? He got married, he had a child, and his wife died. Because of you. So what exactly are you protecting yourself from? You have already been rejected.(Set during Series 4 Episode 2, The Lying Detective)





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time I write about Sherlock, I hope you'll enjoy it :) I rated the story as Mature because of the explicit mention of drug use.  
> Soundtrack: Keaton Henson - Alright --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwZ7duewhng 
> 
> And don't forget: comments and kudos are love!
> 
> Akii

One, two, three, count again, one, two, three. Count again.

Breathe.

No, that won't do. He needs another fix. Or maybe he should just tell him. Why the hell is it so hard?

Because he's going to leave.

But he has already left, Sherlock, remember? He got married, he had a child, and his wife died. Because of you. So what exactly are you protecting yourself from? You have already been rejected.

Liar, liar pants on fire. Where are the clean syringes? He has bought some, hasn't he? They should be near the couch and... oh. Ok. He just threw up on the floor. That's what happens when he waits for too long. There must be some brown rock somewhere, and he still has citric acid in the kitchen. If he could just crawl there, find a clean spoon - he hasn't been thorough during his last shopping spree, forgot to buy sterile spoons, not good Sherlock, not good, you want to destroy yourself but in your own time - and a lighter, he could do it in five minutes. Or he could yell until Mrs Hudson hears him and does it for him. Her husband was a dealer remember? So she must know how to do it properly.

No, you cannot do that. If you want it, get on your feet and do it yourself.

It took him twenty minutes to gather his remaining energy and go to the kitchen. Passing by, he saw Mary's stupid DVD. Miss me? Oh Mary, if you knew. He hated her in the beginning. Like real raw hate. Hard to conceal. But in time he learned to love her and you know why? Because she guessed. She guessed and she didn't even care. More, she seemed to like him better because he loved... She trusted him. And now, she gave him a mission. But John doesn't need saving, John is an adult, and John resents him.

He didn't see the danger, why? He's supposed to see everything, understand everything. So why didn't he see the gun? Why did he call everyone to witness his grand victory on a poor and bitter secretary? He says he doesn't care about people's opinion but John is right, he's a fucking drama queen, who needs applause and constant validation. He's a manchild. He's worthless and where is that bloody citric acid?

He found a pretty much clean spoon in the sink, and some water is boiling in the kettle. Trying to be a responsible junkie eh? But it takes too long, too damn long and he has already thrown up twice. Now he can feel his ribs when he embraces himself - because he's cold, always cold, except when he has those rushes of fever when withdrawal symptoms kick in - and he knows he could find some warmth in someone else's arms but that's not gonna happen. Ever.

He could do what he used to do before. Pick someone up, have a one night stand and never hear of him or her again. No sentiment, no attachment, nothing to tear him apart or distract him of his work. He did that a lot before. Bringing them all to the same restaurant, because men or women, they were all the same, because all the dates followed the same program: meeting, dining - we're not beasts, are we?, going home - whatever what home was, but always his, never theirs, he hates waking up in a stranger's bed, fucking, sleeping, tea, goodbye. And that was fine. Until he didn't live alone anymore. He brought John to the same restaurant than all his previous dates, because he wondered why he accepted to follow him. People were not interested in him generally, people found him obnoxious and rightly so. The one who used to follow him to places were people who wanted to have sex with him, people who found his unusual features appealing - he doesn't know if he's attractive or not, what he knows is that his face lacks symmetry and that his hair is impossible to style. Anyway John wasn't interested in him that way and was very clear about it. So it was puzzling.

Spoon sterilized, now where is that damn lighter?

John was his first friend after Redbeard, but Redbeard was a spaniel and you don't compare dogs with people. It hurts people's feelings. Well if dogs could understand the comparison would be worst for them since there are so many good dogs and so few good people. Like, would he be considered a good dog if he were to be reincarnated into, let's say, an Alaskan husky? Don't be ridiculous Sherlock. You believe in Reason, not in Hindu mysticism. Okay lighter found. So now we need to dissolve that rock with some water and a wee bit of citric acid. Of course there is no sterile water left in this house, let's just use pipe water, the one that was boiled.

He doesn't really know how in his mind John went from friend to more. He had never experienced the "more" before, and it's quite different from wanting to fuck someone. Oh Sherlock, what would mum think? Anyway desire and love are very different and he didn't really know that before. John isn't his type, physically. He's too short, his features are too common. Because Sherlock is pretentious and shallow - you're a bad person Holmes, don't try to deny it - he likes striking people. Since he has a striking intelligence, he feels entitled to striking beauty and wit. Like The Woman. Talk about striking. John is common. He has a common physique, a common intelligence, to be honest he's quite homely.

Don't talk about John like that you absolute moron.

John cares about him. Mycroft does too but it's different. How can he make it clear. He never felt like melting in Mycroft's arms because he said something nice. He longs for John's kind words, and it became worse, and worse, and worse, because John isn't like him, John isn't bisexual or whatever the label is. John is very much into women. So obviously he married one.

Okay, fix ready.

Dizzy...

Close your eyes a second. An hour. A day.

Now it doesn't feel that bad, does it?

Even if it doesn't work, even if John doesn't save him, it would have been worth it. To know what it feels like.

Silly, silly boy. If it was love you wanted, you could have chosen Molly. Molly who's been in love with you for years. She would have treated you right, she would have pulled you towards the brighter side of life. Molly would have made you happy, you who don't know what happy feels like.

But I do.

No you don't. You know what the game feels like, but you don't know happy. Truth is you can't love Molly because she's already yours. She's not a game. She's not a conquest. John is. You delusional fool. You think you can convince a straight man to see you as something else than a friend or a brother, you think you can win him over. Delusions will kill you.

They are killing him but it's alright. He can't tell John, because John won't understand. And he doesn't want to see in John's eyes the wariness of straight people when they realize you're not like them. So that's what you were after during all this time? I trusted you, I let you see me half naked... Those who don't understand that being into men doesn't mean preying on every man you see - is this how straight men treat women? John is for sure quite versatile.

Did he put Mary in danger because he wanted her dead so he could have John all for himself? Oh God, oh no.

No, no, no.

Well think about it, while you're lying on the kitchen's tiles. You didn't have to call her. You could have arrested Norbury on your own, but you called Mary. You knew Norbury was dangerous, you knew she had managed to manipulate so many people supposedly more intelligent than her so... Face it Sherlock. You liked her, because she knew you loved John and even so, she tolerated you, liked you, supported you. And that was why you forgave her for shooting you. Even when John couldn't. She saw right through you and never said anything to John. She was a real soldier. She saw in you an ally, she knew your love was steady and strong, that you would never let John down, that you would always protect him. But still, she was standing between you and him.

I don't believe in this Freudian nonsense.

Actually, he'd better start believing in it, because Freudian nonsense could make sense of his behavior when he doesn't even understand his own brain.

Did he take off the tourniquet?

Oh yes, yes he did. That's a relief. Last time he forgot he woke up with Mrs Hudson slapping him and a blue arm. His veins are getting worse and worse, maybe he could hit rock bottom and start injecting in the groin. Nah. Won't need it. He's soon going to face his worse enemy yet - so it seems.

He needs to make calls. To a number of people. That psychopath Culverton Smith, Molly... He's already found John's potential therapist because John is predictable... No, I know him by heart, that's just it, I know what kind of choices he makes because I know him like the back of my hand. He's not going to like it. He's going to resent him more but that's alright. John needs to vent. John doesn't get angry enough you know? He's so in control all the time. He just clenches his jaw and glares at people. Sherlock shoots the walls and stabs paper. John should scream at him, slap him, kick him. Everything would be better than silence.

He needs to work so he needs meth or ketamine. Something to clear his mind, to make him productive.

And paranoid.

Shut up. We said productive.

\---

Molly is teary eyed in the ambulance and he wishes he could say sorry without looking manipulative.

\- I'm sorry Molly.

She looks at him, his hand still in hers. Her hand is warm, soft, and smells like marzipan. Oh yes marzipan hand cream, "i love the smell but it makes me hungry", her favorite, right, right. Dear god, she's so lovely. Why can't he love her?

\- About what?

She replies, a little harshly but with tears in the back of her throat, not looking at him, pretending to tend for his bruises. He could throw an act. Try to woo her, subdue her. But he won't. Not again.

\- Being such a bad friend.

She stares at him and her eyes are shiny with tears. She notices he's not joking, but she doesn't trust his regret. Oh you're so right Molly, I used you and your kind heart so many times.

\- You can't do that Sherlock.

She says, her voice now a little steadier.

\- If you're really sorry, try to be a better man because...

Her voice cracks again and she pinches the bridge of her nose, like a child, to stop herself from crying.

\- This, she points at the bruises, this is not sorry.

Sherlock mumbles

\- I know my life isn't my own to take.

Tears are falling from Molly's eyes but he can't do anything to ease her pain. Anything would be manipulation.

\- So why are you doing this Sherlock? Why? Why are you doing this to me? To your brother? To John?

He jolted at the word "John" and Molly sighed. Bloody fatigue. Can't even control his reflexes.

\- That's about John right?

Molly's voice is softer now, and her hands is in his hair, comforting, like a mother's. He doesn't have time to nod that John is already there and the game is on again.

\---

John came.

John saved him.

John is in his arms.

John is crying.

He can feel his pulse, racing, then getting slower, and slower, and slower. John is so small.

\- You'll be alright.

Sherlock says. And he doesn't know if it's the right thing to say, but it seems to work since John calms down.

\- I won't...

John says, and the sobs start again, so Sherlock can't let him go, can he? He went through a really fast detox in a couple of days, and he should still be feeling the symptoms of withdrawal. Strangely, he's calm. Because John is here and he fits perfectly in his arms. Is it twisted if he just thought he was thankful for John's sorrow?

\- You will. You're strong. You'll make the best of it. It's shit but it is what it is.

He feels John nodding against his shirt and pulling him closer. No, he's not thankful for John's sorrow. He may not be a good man, but he's not a monster. He's thankful for John's fist in his eye and John's screams and the walls breaking down.

\- Sherlock?

Sherlock's legs are weak and he has trouble carrying himself. Withdrawal. It doesn't go away so easily. Why is it happening now?

\- I'm alright just help me to the couch please?

John wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and laughs

\- So polite!

Sherlock lies down and John sits in front of the couch

\- Dear god Sherlock...

\- I'm fine...

John gets a little closer and gently combs Sherlock's hair out of his eyes.

\- You're not, you have a fever. Why on Earth would you... This wasn't about the DVD right?

Sherlock tries to sit up.

\- No, no, lie down. If it were about it you wouldn't have needed to hurt yourself like this, you could have just put yourself in danger for five minutes not for weeks so why did you...

Tears are falling on the pillow. If John looks at him he can't restrain them, and he has nothing to stop the fever, everything aches, everything spins and why is he being so nice?

\- Don't tell me you tried to...

Sherlock blinks and just stares at John, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

\- Why would you do that?

Sherlock can't answer and John gets even closer, too close to his face, and repeats

\- Why?

\- Because...

Sherlock closes his eyes. How can he tell him? How does he start? I couldn't stand you hating me and I couldn't tell you why?

\- Tell me why now then.

Did he say this out loud?

\- Tell me now, I promise I won't leave.

Sherlock bites his lip.

\- You promise?

John laughs and ruffles his hair

\- You're such a child sometimes... yes I promise.

Sherlock feels light-headed. Maybe this is not real after all.

\- Come closer...

John laughs again

\- Okay, okay...

Sherlock's hand finds the back of his neck, just like a few minutes before, and he feels John's pulse accelerating. Fight or flight? He sits up a little, the room starts spinning, and John is his anchor. He leans to him and their foreheads touch. John's is cool while Sherlock's is burning, and he says I love you half an inch from John's lips.

John's body is tense, as if made of stone, and Sherlock believes it means fight. He doesn't mind, he's already full of bruises and too tired to care. His hand is still on John's neck, but John has grabbed his wrist. His pulse is racing now, so yes, fight it is. Sherlock's eyes are still closed, and he thinks okay, push me away, run down the stairs and never talk to me again.

John mumbles

\- I hope this isn't a game Sherlock...

And to prove him he's not playing, he kisses him, falling down the couch and pulling John closer.

\- Not playing...

He says, deepening the kiss.

\- Never playing with you again...

John pushes him away, a little out of breath. Sherlock's eyes are still wet with tears and his mouth is burning, yearning for more, more of John's reddened lips, more...

But John gets up and walks towards the chimney, his fingers touching his mouth, like he cannot believe what's just happened, or like he's disgusted? Who knows? He's not good with that and he's so dizzy. He gets up.

\- John...

John is not facing him, trying to even his breathing. Sherlock gently puts his hands on his shoulders and tries to turn him around but John doesn't move.

\- John I won't blame you if...

\- Is this the drugs talking?

Sherlock sighs

\- I haven't taken anything. And I was clean when we met, remember?

John turns around

\- When we met?

Sherlock smiles.

\- That long?

Sherlock's smile widens

\- A few months after we met, yes.

John laughs

\- God. Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock laughs too

\- Mrs Hudson is the best detective I know.

John smiles

\- She is.

And Sherlock understands. John would have never left.

\- I can't say i'm not confused. But can we... can we try that again?

This time Sherlock's smile is wide and bright

\- Any time you want.


End file.
